


In the Way He Should Go

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [7]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Children, Drama, Drinking, Family, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: It is only right and proper for the high priest of a man's faith to offer a blessing over his newborn son - regardless of the mixed emotions of the high priest in question.
Relationships: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Series: The Cultists' Cycle [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3668
Kudos: 1





	In the Way He Should Go

**Author's Note:**

> ...For those friends who were reading my stuff without knowing the canon, I apologize, because I'm pretty sure if you don't know one of the large endgame spoilers, this will make approximately as little sense to you as it did to Hardin. If so, I hope the hurt/comfort and general weirdness makes it at least somewhat appealing.
> 
> To those who are quite familiar with VS canon and Ivalice in general... enjoy my blatant nod to FFXII in the middle of it all. ;)
> 
> Will note that this started off as Hardin relating a scene that he, as noted, was very confused by but eventually found kind of amusing for being so odd. Then Sydney (after much prodding) provided context and oops - well, this is indeed now a story, and a far more relevant one to the canon than I had expected.

_Something_ woke Sydney at dawn.

He could not have said what it was, and in fact he might have simply thought himself restless for any number of reasons, or none whatsoever - had he not the distinct impression that something was... not wrong, exactly, nor out of place. Something was _changing_.

He was somewhat accustomed to such unexplained assertions, for given his role as prophet, he was privy to revelations from the gods, and often indirectly; a sense that he must go somewhere, do something, that a stranger he had just laid eyes upon must be approached or avoided. This was much the same, this urge to rise and... do what?

Sydney did not wait to see if it were only the lingering effects of some dream he could not recall, but barely hesitated before he sat up to wake himself more thoroughly and find out. It was convenient that he had spent the night alone in his quarters within the keep of Leá Monde, his frequent companion having bedded in the barracks overnight rather than asking to join him. Nothing was wrong between himself and Hardin, only a lack of need on that particular evening - and perhaps that too was as the gods had willed it, so that Sydney would not disturb him upon rising so early. He spared a moment to reach for a robe, given the season, before he vanished from the room.

When he reappeared, it was atop the dome of the great cathedral in the center of the city, from which he could see nearly all that lay within its walls, as well as a good bit of what lay beyond. Nothing looked unusual, nor _felt_ unusual from where he stood, as he let the Dark that roved the city tell him of what it found. No, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have happened within Leá Monde.

...Elsewhere, then. Sydney closed his eyes, lifted his face and his hands to the brightening heavens. _What would you have Your servant do...? Where must I seek this... happening?_

At last he had proof that it was no misperception, when he immediately opened his eyes and looked to the cliffs inland. _There._

Moments later, he was outside the city, standing before the stairs that led down into the wine cellar that was the only natural entryway. Alone, but not for long; the Dark brought whispers of another man's heart, the fear and revulsion he felt as he approached the cursed city, teeming with dark energy and those who willingly partook of it - yet he need not go within to finish the errand on which he had been sent. It was just as well Sydney had covered himself more thoroughly, he supposed, for the followers of St. Iocus were both prudish and superstitious - yet he knew the _mortal_ to whom this man was sworn, and there was no reason to make his errand more uncomfortable than it already would undoubtedly be.

The man stopped short as it was when he rounded what was left of an ancient stone wall and saw Sydney standing there, between himself and the city. "...I bring word from Duke Aldous Byron Bardorba," said the man, hesitantly continuing his approach. "He bid me leave his missive here at the entry point were I to encounter none of your men, but I see there is no need."

"Indeed." Sydney would take no delight in teasing the man, given what this portended. He hadn't considered it for months, but now that he was actively thinking about the duke's affairs, there was a specific reason the duke might seek to make contact at approximately this time, even without having previously arranged to make certain of its reception. "And the word you bring?"

"The duchess labors to bring forth his child," the man replied, and brought forth a folded paper, wax seal intact as he offered it. "I know not whether the child has yet been born, for my lord sent me at once, that you might receive word only shortly after the birth, if not before."

"Very wise of him." Sydney's sharp fingers easily split the seal, and he quickly read over the duke's less concise telling. "Lady Ellemir... how has she fared during all of this?"

"Quite well, milord. She had only recently taken to her bed at the physicians' instruction, and as mere precaution. When I departed the manor, none seemed to be overly concerned - the birth was unfolding as expected."

"That is excellent news." Not so much for the duchess' sake, as far as Sydney was concerned, but for the sake of the duke... for the child she was to bear, may have already borne. That was what he had felt. This was what had wakened him - the coming of the child. The heir to House Bardorba, or alternately... No, Sydney did not think it likely the gods would have wakened him for this news if the boy was not to live. If that were the case, he would probably have woken in a far more unpleasant manner rather than with this sense of anticipation, the feeling of a breath drawn and held.

The duke's servant still stood before him in silence. "Did the duke give you further instructions for me?" Sydney inquired.

"He did not. I was only to deliver his missive, and then to return."

"Very well then - you are free to do so," Sydney told him, then paused. "...Though having traveled so far, presumably through much of the night, you would be welcome to breakfast with the brethren and I before you depart."

"...Much obliged, milord, but I was given provisions enough for such a short journey; I would not be long parted from the manor."

And besides, the idea of entering Leá Monde made his soul shudder. Sydney was not offended, for he had expected as much, only having offered for the sake of etiquette. "In that case, I bid you a swift and safe journey home, with my gratitude."

"My thanks, milord." The man offered a modest bow and, no doubt eager to be away from the cursed city and the heretic priest who ruled over it, turned to go much faster than he had come.

Sydney would normally have been amused, but at present he was preoccupied. Again he looked over the duke's letter, this time reading it more carefully. Little more than elaboration on what the courier had told him, delicately worded lest the message be intercepted, but with a suggestion clearly given - though only a fool would not have assumed it to be implied, simply by the duke having sent word to him. And seeing as it was only a suggestion, rather than a directive...

Sydney folded the letter again, and slipped it into a pocket of the robe he wore. He supposed it was left to him to choose, then, wasn't it? 

\-----

Wide awake as he was, Sydney would not return to his bed. Considering the news that had been brought, and the prospect of what more the day might bring, he had little interest in taking breakfast with those among his brethren who were now beginning to wake. Instead he went to the ancient temple, dedicated to the gods he served, and stood before them in the chapel to ponder, pray, and listen for guidance.

Yet although he asked for guidance, divination, perhaps a sign - it appeared that the gods had also deemed this choice entirely his, for he received nothing but a measure of peace, the assurance of their presence and love calming his troubled mind so that he might think clearly upon the decision he must make.

Though the letter from Duke Bardorba remained folded within his pocket, his phrasing returned to Sydney as he considered what he must do... or what he _should_ do, or what he _wanted_ to do. His immediate reaction to the news had been a strange blend of anxiety, defiance, and yearning, yet Sydney quickly recognized that such reactions belonged not to himself, but someone he had left behind. Or rather, based upon the last visit to the duke's manor and his reaction to this message, he had tried, and not entirely succeeded.

Think of this not as a demand, nor even a request, but rather as an invitation. As to whom I am inviting, that is for you to decide - but either way, you have every right to be here at such a time, should you wish it.

_That_ decision Sydney need not make, for it had been made years ago, despite the duke's assertion. If he was to visit, it would be as none other than the high priest of Müllenkamp. So the only question was: did the occasion warrant a visit from the high priest? He supposed that it did - and was slightly surprised that the decision caused him to feel relief. In spite of his reluctance to admit it, it seemed that some part of him - and he preferred not to think about which part, or why - truly wanted to go.

Sydney remained in the temple to pray nonetheless; even having acknowledged his desire to go to the duke, the thought of actually _doing so_ left him unsettled. So caught up was he in his prayers and the thoughts that both resulted and distracted from them, he didn't realize that Hardin knew anything of the situation until he heard the door opening at the far end of the chapel. The footsteps paused just inside, and he could hear his friend's hesitance as Hardin considered how to explain his intrusion, or whether perhaps he was mistaken, he should just leave...

"You're welcome to come in," Sydney said, remaining as he was, but only lifting his voice that Hardin might hear. It seemed he had spent much longer there than he had realized, if Hardin had come looking for him. "I believe I have reached the end of my prayers." 

A brief hesitation, then another few quiet footsteps, and a voice to match. "...Should I ask, or is this a matter between you and the gods alone?"

A bit of both, Sydney thought, and smiled wryly as he turned to face Hardin. "In part, you are their answer to me - for I must pay another visit to Duke Bardorba, and at once."

"You must?" Hardin frowned slightly. "Is something not right about the support he has provided... something more you must ask?"

Sydney shook his head. "Rather, there is something I may do for the duke. The birth of his son is nigh - indeed, by this hour the child might already have been born. It is only fitting," Sydney stated, his footsteps echoing upon the stone as he crossed the large room to where Hardin stood awaiting him, "that the high priest of his family's traditional faith might visit to offer blessings and praise for the newborn heir."

Though Hardin's expression hardly changed, Sydney could sense the brightening in his heart at what seemed to him to be unquestionably good news. "Indeed, the gods be praised," he agreed. "I am no priest, of course, but it seems to me that his faithfulness to their children has been rewarded."

"It would seem so." Despite his own conflicting thoughts, Sydney could assume no other explanation.

As he fell back into thoughtful silence, the initial warmth of the news seemed to cool for Hardin, and the implications of Sydney's words fully settled upon him. "...So you intend to go to the manor." It was not quite a question, and before Sydney could answer, Hardin continued. "If you are set on going, I will be glad to accompany you. Or if you would have me go alone, as your representative..."

Sydney chuckled faintly, shaking his head. "It is a part of my duties, I suppose - but I appreciate the offer. And yes, I would prefer to have your company, if you have nothing important to attend to here for the next day or so."

"Not that I can think of," Hardin replied, thinking aloud. "Training those who are practicing their swordplay, little more. Kermiak can handle it on his own. All else I had considered for the remainder of the week was perhaps my own study, further lessons in spellcasting... and I would not be having the latter if you were elsewhere." He paused. "I speak truth, Sydney - if you would have me go in your stead, it is no hardship for me."

Of course Hardin would offer. Insist, had he thought it would work. Hardin was the only one who knew how Sydney hated that place, after having accompanied him there half a year past - and although he did not know all the reasons, he knew some of them. It had been a miserable experience in spite of the grandeur of the duke's estate, frustrating and bitter and humiliating... and though Sydney was not so sentimental as to think he could not have done it without Hardin, having Hardin present had made it far more bearable than it would have been without him.

Again Sydney shook his head, this time more somber. "It was not so bad as I had thought it might be, when last we visited the duke. And this is an occasion of joy rather than tragedy," he observed. "The differing circumstances may make this visit far less unpleasant than the last." It was... possible. Though he did not think it terribly likely.

But again it would be bearable regardless, for Hardin would not refuse his request - Hardin would be going with him. It was not even necessary to voice his confirmation; Hardin merely asked, "When will we be leaving?"

As Sydney had expected, and there was no reason to prolong the matter. "As soon as we are prepared for the journey. And from Leá Monde, it is not far into the Graylands," he noted. "We should not even have need for rations or bedrolls, for if we leave soon, we should arrive not long after the dinner hour - perhaps we will spend the night, and return on the morrow. We need bring very little beyond clothing appropriate for the occasion."

Hardin gave him a slight nod. "Perhaps I will leave that to you, and go to inform Kermiak that he will be conducting our brethren's drills alone this afternoon, possibly tomorrow as well. And as it is barely midday, I will see what there may be in the kitchens." He hesitated there; Sydney could hear that he had nearly asked, then decided against it. "Shall we meet in your room, after I've retrieved traveling garb?"

Of course Sydney would have declined Hardin's offer, considering how shaken he had been by their last visit to the Bardorba manor - so shaken that he felt ill, that he could hardly eat. He was grateful Hardin had not even raised the question, for already Sydney felt mild tremors beginning at the mere thought: that very night, he would be within those walls again. "That sounds reasonable," he agreed with a smile. "I will see you there shortly."

Sydney may have been the heartseer between them, but Hardin often saw through him just the same. Hardin was mostly content with Sydney's explanation and the relative calm of his demeanor, but not at all convinced Sydney was as much at peace as he appeared. And as usual, Hardin was right. 

Also as usual, Hardin knew when to pick his battles and when to fall back into the role that all others would have assumed between them - merely another sworn follower of the most holy oracle of the gods. Sydney would have liked to tell himself that it was the truth, but as he watched Hardin turn to go, he could not. It was _a_ truth, yes, but not the only truth.

And that, of course, was why Hardin was the only one he could dare ask to come with him at such a time as this.

\-----

There was a chill wind as they set out, making both of them glad for the heavy cloaks they wore, but it largely subsided as they made their way inland, to the low-lying area known as the Graylands. True to its name, the sky above was clouded, and occasional flurries of snow added to the light dusting upon ground and greenery. With only the two of them, they could follow the easy paths that had once been roads, for few traveled such paths as led to Leá Monde any longer, and there were none to look upon the marks of their passing this way, towards the Graylands and their destination within. Even Hardin agreed there was little risk - if anyone who would find interest in two rebel cultists visiting a high-ranking parliamentarian were to try to retrace their steps, they would be covered or melted away by the next morn.

Having made excellent time, it was not long past dusk when the lights of the duke's manor became visible further ahead down the road, and Sydney steeled himself, for he could guess what was to come upon them showing themselves.

Sure enough, he could tell when the guards posted at the gate turned from watchful to suspicious, then to indignation when Sydney drew within the light of the lanterns and drew back the hood of his cloak. One of them, presumably the lead in the night's rotation, even had the audacity to speak it aloud. "You...? You would come here at such a time as this?"

"I come at the invitation of the duke himself," Sydney replied calmly as he produced the duke's letter from within a fold of his cloak, holding it forth so that they could see the broken wax seal, though perhaps not verify the mark in the darkness. It mattered not if they believed this evidence alone. "Should you doubt its authenticity, you may go and ask him - we are willing to wait."

"It won't be necessary," the guard muttered, and gave the nod to his fellows to raise the portcullis. "His Grace told us to allow you entrance, whenever you should come."

They only hadn't expected him to come for this occasion, then - and thus the duke had not informed them that he had been invited. Perhaps the duke doubted he would accept? ...Sydney wasn't sure whether to be annoyed, for in that case he might have turned it down without offense - or to be pleased that he might catch the duke off guard by accepting.

And either way, despite his distaste for these familiar walls and courtyards as the guard was escorting them through towards the residence, he _was_ curious as to what the duke might have to say to him about the matter, and what the duke might expect _him_ to have to say about it.

It seemed they would not have to wait long to find out, for rather than being directed to their rooms where they might change out of travel garb for a more formal presentation, the duke came forth to meet them at once. He was in much better spirits than the last time they had come, Sydney thought at the sight of him - still a bit slower than expected in body, still somewhat wary when he looked upon Sydney, but now he stood straighter, wearing an authentic smile, and no wonder. "Ah, Sydney, welcome, welcome - and it is an honor to greet you again as well, Hardin," the duke began with an approving nod for each of them. "I'm pleased to have visitors with whom I can share my good fortune."

By this time Sydney had determined it was no longer necessary on behalf of the duke himself, but for the sake of Hardin and the servants that had ushered them to the sitting room, Sydney offered a deep bow, and at his side, Hardin followed his lead. "It is our honor that we should be invited guests at such a momentous time," Sydney replied. "Should I presume, then, that the child has arrived?"

"Indeed he has, only a few hours past," the duke confirmed. Though his years had left his legs somewhat stiff, he did not seat himself before them in his exuberance, but only leaned upon one of the couches. "Both mother and child are tired, but doing well, so the physicians say. And on that subject," he added, looking to the servants who still stood by, "should Ellemir wake, I would appreciate it if she were not told of our company. Surely it would be better for her to rest than to think that she must play the hostess. You are dismissed - and make certain the others who have seen our guests' arrival know my wishes in this regard."

The servants were somewhat aghast at this request, and Sydney could not help but be amused as they nonetheless murmured their acquiescence and departed. A convenient excuse for the duchess to be kept unaware of their presence; he supposed he could be grateful to the duke for that. But of course he would not have sent the invitation had he not considered how to deal with the results of its possible acceptance.

Once the servants had gone, the duke could speak again, and more freely. "So then, yes... Despite the advanced age of both of his parents, the boy arrived relatively smoothly, and in good health. I can believe only that I have somehow worked my way into the favor of the gods, for certainly I had never expected such a blessing in these, surely my twilight years."

Each word haunted Sydney, as did the way the duke's eyes and his thoughts lingered on Sydney's face, tempering the joy he felt at the birth of his son. His second son, his healthy son. His son who might take his rightful place when the duke was gone... But Sydney was the high priest and oracle of Müllenkamp, and he had not come to mull over his own useless thoughts. "If the gods have granted you such, then assuredly, it is deserved," Sydney reasoned. "I offer my congratulations, my lord, and should be pleased to offer my blessing and prayers over the boy as well."

"I had hoped you might." The duke's words were earnest, and likely it was Sydney alone who could hear the wistfulness underlying them. "...I owe you much, Sydney. It was you who showed me something more I might offer in service to the gods I once foolishly doubted, and perhaps that is why they have been so gracious."

For a moment Sydney was startled, thinking he meant something other than his financial assistance... but even if the duke chafed at the roles they now played, he would not have allowed them to slip in Hardin's presence. "You owe me nothing, my lord. Were it my choice, the brethren would have had no need for your support - and besides, the child was conceived before I came with my request. If the child is a reward for your service, it must be the service you have long performed before the king and Parliament, your steadfast devotion to the preservation of freedom for those who worship gods beyond those favored by the state."

"Even if it is so, your coming gave me a way by which I could further serve, and perhaps they have thus blessed me further with the boy's good health." He paused, and there was a sidelong glance at Hardin that Sydney only barely noticed; they could speak freer without the servants, but not entirely freely. "And I am grateful for your swiftness now. Soon the word will spread, but I have a... dubious bit of fortune, in that the tale of my first son's birth is well-known. If I should remain silent on the birth of my second for a time, permitting no visitors, not yet proclaiming the news and celebrating, few there are who would find it strange. And thus such visitors as I personally invite may enjoy their privacy, for now."

Of course - and so that was why the duke had sent word while the duchess still labored, rather than out of concern, perhaps intercession for a difficult birth as one might have thought. "As always, my lord, your consideration for your guests' wellbeing is appreciated."

"As a matter of fact, on that subject..." the duke mused. "The household has been somewhat in disarray since last night, our usual schedules have fallen by the wayside. Though certainly work has carried on in the kitchens, and you have arrived in time for dinner, I had given little thought to meals for much of the day, and took my first not long ago. But despite my intent to put off more public displays of good cheer, perhaps the three of us might have something of a celebration even so. I would gladly share a few drinks, and the two of you also may dine to your heart's content." His smile took on a more shrewd look as he turned his gaze more directly to Sydney. "Unfortunately, given the ordeal of childbirth, I am sure Ellemir would be unable to join us even if I were to ask."

Of course the duke meant it for Sydney's benefit, but at his side, Sydney felt that Hardin was far more amused than he. For as expected, regardless of the presence of the duchess, Sydney had no appetite upon returning to this place, seeing the duke's mixed emotions, hearing the disparaging thoughts in the hearts of his staff. Already he wished he could go, or at least seclude himself in their suite or in the library for a time to gather his own thoughts. But it was inevitable they would be staying the night - and only one night would be the best scenario, if they were to keep knowledge of their presence from the duchess - and Hardin would no doubt be interested in dinner, seeing as he'd only taken a bite to eat as they were first setting out. 

And so Sydney nodded, and even with a gracious smile. "Unfortunate indeed, but certainly we have no wish to disturb her rest. You may simply pass along our good wishes for her health later, if it pleases you. In the meantime, of course we would be honored to join you for dinner and drinks. Perhaps after we have changed into more suitable attire?"

"Of course - I apologize if my hospitality wanes," the duke told them. "I fear I have a great deal on my mind at present. Yes, feel free to refresh yourselves before the meal. I asked that someone ready your rooms while I was on my way to meet you - should I have someone see you to them, or do you recall the way?"

For Hardin's benefit, this time, for obviously Sydney knew the way. "I'm sure we can manage," he replied. "And your hospitality is greater than one would expect upon such an auspicious day, my lord. We shall come to the dining hall when we have prepared, then - and rest assured, we have no expectations but that you should join us at your pleasure."

The duke laughed softly - actually _laughed_. "At present my pleasure seems boundless," he murmured. "I should be happy to share it, if I may."

Sydney was not sure when he might have seen such a sight before, and it was both a relief and a shame to him. Analogous of their entire circumstance, no doubt... but he remained steady, his tone light and pleasant. "Again I say it is an honor to be your guests for the occasion, my lord." He offered another respectful bow, Hardin doing likewise beside, before turning to leave the sitting room. 

Hardin was trailing just behind him as Sydney set out towards the same suite they had shared during their previous visit - he likely knew the way now also, though he was not so familiar with the manor as Sydney. "The duke is certainly in high spirits," Hardin remarked, with the hint of a wondering smile. "Somewhat less intimidating than our last meeting."

"You shouldn't find him overly intimidating regardless," Sydney remarked, almost absently as he made his way through the familiar hallways. "He told me the last time we were here - he thought well of your father, and believes you to be honorable also."

That made Hardin's pleasant meandering thoughts stop short, and almost immediately Sydney felt guilt for mentioning it. At present he should have known better, matters of absent fathers and sons... family expectations, expectations denied...

But in Hardin's case, the melancholy was more sweet than bitter, and after the brief startled silence, he nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps after a few drinks I would have the nerve to ask him." But then, a change of subject. "...You seem better this time as well."

Was he? So far, perhaps. "We've been here only a short time," Sydney pointed out. "And our stay will not be long, nor will I be asking for favors... and if all goes according to the duke's plan, we shall never lay eyes upon Lady Ellemir."

"That is certainly an improvement," Hardin muttered under his breath, but good-naturedly. "So dining and drinks with Duke Bardorba... Even had my father lived, it seems unlikely I would ever have seen such an honor."

His heart had turned off into pointless ponderings, roads not taken, choices made and regretted and come to mean so much more than expected. Sydney did not care to consider such themes at the moment, nor did he wish to hear Hardin's own introspection on them, but he knew not what else to say to change the subject. It was strange - or perhaps it wasn't - how suddenly he was lost for words once again, when words had come to him so easily for years now.

It mattered little, for Hardin had his own thoughts to be lost in, and was pleased enough to explore them. Perhaps the duke's mood was infectious. Perhaps Sydney was only bitter. It was not that he was displeased with the duke's good fortune...

Sydney sighed faintly as they entered their suite - where the beds had indeed already been made, and a fire was just beginning to lick at the largest logs in the hearth. The candles were still tall, only a few trickles of wax having dripped down the sides, and by their light he unfastened his cloak, tossing it onto one of the beds along with the satchel he carried with him. "Our travel today was rather light compared to the last time we came here. Have you need for a bath, or would you prefer to go straight to dinner?"

"Already I've warmed enough - and yes, the travel was easy." Hardin likewise removed his cloak, but hung it up more properly before starting for the bedroom where Sydney had gone. "The baths are tempting, but dinner more so." Sitting down on the opposite bed, he began to look through his own pack to retrieve fresh clothing, but glanced back up to Sydney, looking more serious. "And you...? What do you think of dinner?"

An excellent question, considering how dinner had gone the last time they had come to the duke's manor. Even without the duchess at the table to grate on his nerves... Sydney shook his head. "I think I am expected to be present." At least this time he did not feel ill, shaken to the core. Merely irritable, confused... somewhat wounded, in spite of himself.

But he was, after all, Sydney Losstarot, high priest of Müllenkamp, oracle of the gods, Keeper of the Dark. Ignoring Hardin's look, curious and concerned, he shook out one of the fine shirts he had brought along, and began to dress for dinner with Duke Bardorba.

\-----

Although Sydney seemed to be managing his unexplained discomfort much better during their current visit, Hardin kept a watchful eye on him during dinner nonetheless. After all, was that not why he had been asked along? His actions during their first visit with Duke Bardorba many months ago had not been planned, nor expected by either of them, but had led to an intimacy between them, a strange sort of understanding. Hardin had watched over Sydney in a rare moment of helplessness, and Sydney had... permitted it. It was Hardin's assumption that the reason he had come this time was in case such assistance might be needed again.

But as of yet, Sydney was showing no indication that it might be necessary. He was not snapping, he was able to maintain his usual cool demeanor. And though he was still obviously uncomfortable within the manor for whatever reason, dining with the duke was not nearly so awkward as it had been the last time. Even if he still had no appetite, and was only occasionally making some pretense of eating, at least he was speaking, and did not have that oddly listless sense about him.

Unrelated to the possibility of Sydney's discomfort, the small revelation he had given Hardin earlier, about having apparently pleased the duke during their last meeting, remained in the back of Hardin's mind. Duke Bardorba was one of the most distinguished elders of the Parliament, the patriarch of a family with a long storied history - far too important a man for Hardin to be entirely comfortable around, particularly after he had all but ruined what was left of his own family's name. The idea that the duke had known and respected his father, however... it caused Hardin to feel somewhat less out of place. It did not hurt that at their last meeting, Hardin had done much of the conversing over dinner, and knew him to be gracious even to one so far below his station.

Sydney, of course, had somehow seemed to belong even during that past visit, when he had barely spoken, and become so ill as to excuse himself. Even if he was not nobility, he was something akin to _divinity_ , which seemed to afford him as much respect or possibly more in the duke's eyes. In fact Hardin had the impression, from the looks that passed between them as the two of them spoke this time, that the duke found _Sydney_ intimidating.

As for Sydney's thoughts about the duke, Hardin could not say. Although it was clear to one who knew him well that Sydney was merely putting forth a performance, hiding something behind his impeccable manners and grace, his performance was near flawless. 

But the two of them did speak to one another, perhaps aided by the absence of the duchess, on matters none too deep. The state of affairs in the capital, issues that were being discussed officially and unofficially among the members of Parliament, troubles that had arisen in other regions of the country. It seemed odd to Hardin that they would speak only of matters of such irrelevance to the three of them at the table - but then there were servants present, bringing and removing dishes as needed, refilling cups.

This seemed to be borne out after they had finished with dinner - or rather, after Hardin had, for the duke had already eaten and Sydney ate very little - when the duke suggested they abscond to one of the smaller sitting rooms upstairs for further conversation. And further, stiffer drinks; the duke apparently intended to make good on his earlier suggestion of celebration, for the bottle he uncorked for the three of them once they were alone was apparently far stronger than what they had enjoyed with the meal. "Now that we have our privacy," the duke remarked, "it matters not if our tongues might loosen a bit - if we should chance to speak of certain confidential matters. For instance, few of my servants know anything at all of my finances, much less what or whom I may choose to direct it to. I would keep it that way."

That made a great deal of sense to Hardin, given that the duke's staff had largely been chosen by the duchess, who professed a different faith; though Sydney had confidence they would not dare betray their oath to the duke, best that they not have the option to begin with.

"Ah, but we have not come to discuss such delicate subjects, have we?" Sydney spoke up, giving the duke a knowing look. "Our brethren now enjoy a measure of security due to your generosity, and we have not come to ask more of you. In fact when the spring comes, we may find some other avenue, and no longer have need."

"Yet if there was more I might do," the duke mused, filling the three cups that sat upon the low table between them, before the couch where Sydney and Hardin had seated themselves at his invitation. "Financially or otherwise. I am a blessed man... At times, I did not recognize _how_ blessed - and surely not only I but my family paid for such petulance. Though the arrival of my son bodes well for the gods' forgiveness, I suppose it is only natural that I would want to be certain I am in their good graces."

Hardin nodded slightly, taking the cup he was offered. "Quite natural indeed." It was strange to hear the duke's own words, after having heard the outline of his misfortune long ago as distant political intrigue. To bear witness to the unexpected reversal of his fortunes was almost surreal. Even to be in the same room with these two men, both so powerful in their own right... 

Hardin looked to Sydney, and some of his awe slipped away into mild curiosity. Sydney had accepted his own cup and still had traces of that knowing smile, but he was staring down into his drink, half-distracted by some thought of his own as he leaned upon the arm of the couch. Hardin wondered what it was that had him distracted.

The duke seemed to have no such concern, as he settled in a chair across from them with his own cup. "Perhaps a toast is in order... Perhaps more than one - there are many things for which I would give thanks."

"Your son's health first and foremost, I should assume," Sydney murmured, still gazing down into the wine in his cup as if he were seeing something there. ...For all Hardin knew, given Sydney's strange gifts, he might be.

Yet the duke shook his head. "Before even that, something of which I imagine you would approve... though I wonder whether a toast to the gods, given by mortals, should be nearly an insult to their majesty."

"The gods understand intent, and recognize the limitations of mortal thoughts and concepts," Sydney remarked, "and so they would take it as well-intentioned regardless. Yet I would suggest a different phrasing, if I may?"

"On this I would concede to your authority," the duke agreed.

"Hmph." For some reason, Sydney appeared to find this humorous, but raised his glass, and Hardin and the duke did likewise. "To the mercy of the gods, bestowed upon even such benighted creatures as we - for there is not one among us who has not fallen."

A rather morose way to phrase it given the joyful occasion, Hardin thought, but the duke's approval was evident in his expression. "Yes, to their boundless mercy." And once they had drunk, the duke raised his glass again at once. "And then, not only to the boy, but... to family," he finished, somewhat more sedate. "Those who have just arrived, and those who have departed."

Oddly, although Sydney's smile was pleasant in appearance, there was an odd gleam in his eye that Hardin caught as he raised his glass. It almost appeared angry, for a moment lending him a sardonic look. "Indeed," he murmured, and added nothing more before they drank again.

Whatever was getting under Sydney's skin, it was a toast Hardin could appreciate, and thus it was almost startling when the duke addressed him instead, drawing him out of his thoughts. "And you, Hardin? Have you any inspiration for a toast?"

"To tell the truth, my lord, you and Sydney have already covered most of my own thoughts," he replied, with a respectfully bowed head. "The unexpected mercies of the gods..." Perhaps the wine was stronger than he thought, or he had already had enough at dinner, that he dared to voice it aloud. "Fathers, sons..."

The duke nodded thoughtfully, and sipped again at the drink in his hand. "I would imagine so. Your own father was a fine man - it is a pity he did not have the chance to see the young man you have become."

"You honor me, my lord." Hardin was not so certain, however, and his head bowed further, his voice lowered. "...Though I have my doubts that he would have approved of certain choices I have made."

Hardin was somewhat surprised at the duke's chuckle, though it was a gentle one. "With all due respect... may I assume you have no children?"

"Not to my knowledge." And highly unlikely, given the meager experience he had had with women before meeting Sydney.

"It seems to me that fathers view their children in a strange light," said the duke. "At times the child may make poor choices, or simply those with which the father may disagree, perhaps even disappointing them initially. Yet when the child is grown, they may come to find that the child made precisely the right choices, and has made for themselves a life better, or more meaningful, than the father had hoped for them."

An odd bit of wisdom from a man whose first son had succumbed to illness in his youth, and whose second had only just been born... but Hardin supposed he had had plenty of time to observe others around him among the nobility, concerned for their family's reputation and legacy. Still Hardin was dubious it applied in his case - but perhaps, given Sydney's role and his cause, there was something to be said for the idea. For surely he would have accomplished very little of value, had he simply lived a comfortable life at his family's holdings in the north... He shook his head slightly, shaking off the thoughts that were too deep, too self-centered for such an occasion, and raised his own glass. "Then shall we drink not only to family, and the mercies of the gods... but the understanding between fathers and sons," he suggested. "May your son grow to exceed your expectations."

"Nothing should please me more," the duke murmured, also lifting his glass and drinking. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Hardin saw Sydney do likewise in silence before reaching for the bottle between them to add more to his cup. "If I may be so bold as to ask," Sydney said then, "are we to meet the child in question? I had thought I was to offer a blessing over the boy."

"I had thought to present him tonight as well," the duke replied, doing likewise when Sydney had relinquished the bottle. "When I came to greet you, he was sleeping... And then before I came down to dinner, he had just fallen asleep once more, after having been fed. Perhaps a bit later I will see if he is ready for visitors, but I dared not disturb his rest, nor arouse the suspicions of his mother."

Hardin glanced over at Sydney again at a strange, derisive sound from his throat. "She has plenty enough as it is," Sydney muttered, once again drinking deeply.

Hardin was slightly mortified, for it was a rather rude thing to say before the duke - if entirely true - but when he glanced to the duke, he found the man half-hiding a smirk behind his own drink. "And is well enough for more," the duke even added. "There were some concerns, due to her age, but she has come through as well as one can expect, or so they tell me." The smirk faded as the duke's thoughts turned inward. "Would that Corrinne had been so strong, even in our youth."

At Hardin's side, he felt the shift as Sydney tipped the cup back to drink deeply once more, though after the brief, awkward hesitation between himself and the duke, neither of them offered another toast.

And in fact, they remained silent, perhaps lost in thought. Either way, to Hardin it seemed somewhat awkward, Sydney staring down into his cup with that smile that had now most definitely turned cynical, the duke's gaze distant. "...If I may also ask a bold question," he put forth, hoping to dispel some of the awkwardness. "Has the boy been given a name?"

"As a matter of fact..." That seemed to do the trick, for some of the light came back to the duke's eyes as they returned to the joyful subject of their small celebration. "Ellemir and I had time to discuss naming this time, and we had all but settled before the time of his birth was nigh. His name is Joshua. Joshua Corrinne - for while Ellemir has her moments of pettiness, she does not begrudge me the memory of my first wife, or that she might live on in the family's legacy in some manner."

"That is good." Hardin would not quite go so far as to say gracious, for it seemed to him that it was only reasonable. And moreover, he was getting the impression that the duke shared some of Sydney's opinions of his current wife - most of which were unflattering. Perhaps he had not married again for love, but only the chance of an heir, or some sort of political gambit... At any rate, they were not there to discuss the duchess. "So Joshua Corrinne Bardorba," Hardin repeated. "The long-awaited heir."

The duke shook his head. "Not awaited, precisely... he was rather a surprise. I cannot say I had entirely accepted that I might be the last of the Bardorbas, yet... this was not the manner in which I might have expected such an answer to come. I should have trusted that the gods had prepared a way forward for us."

"As they will," Sydney agreed quietly. He had been so quiet, it caused Hardin to look to him in mild surprise, finding him still with that cynical smile, his glass half-raised once again. "And so, House Bardorba lives on."

The duke nodded and raised his glass a touch as well. "House Bardorba lives on," he murmured in agreement, and drank once more. Something was ... odd, the air between the two of them, and Hardin hesitated before doing likewise.

Even so, the duke's mood quickly turned back to good cheer, conversing readily with the two of them about not only the child, but the conditions in Leá Monde, the brethren overwintering there, the movements of the king's and the cardinal's men that may keep them there longer. Initially Hardin was wary of speaking about such things, but Sydney seemed not to object to the questions - and the duke was after all providing them coin to keep the brethren fed and protected for the season. Hardin supposed he had a right to know.

And well it was that he had determined it early in the conversation, for as the evening wore on, he was doing more and more of the talking. Recalling their prior visit, when he had done most of the talking over dinner due to Sydney's affliction, occasionally Hardin glanced over to Sydney, just to check. But no, Sydney did not show any signs of discomfort - he was only quiet, continuing to gaze down at the wine in his cup and occasionally drinking of it, the same half-smile upon his lips. Hardin supposed that if anything, it was a good sign, for that was far better than the state he had been in the last time.

And so the conversation led where it wished, without much concern for Sydney's state of mind, and eventually turned back to the subject that had brought them together in the first place. "I find I must suddenly change course on certain matters, readjust my priorities, for the boy must come first," the duke observed. "Not only his physical wellbeing, mind you, but..." He trailed off, considering his words. "His upbringing, his values. He _must_ be instructed in the ways of an open mind, reason... rather than blind faith, simply following the path that others have laid out before him as if it were the only-"

His words were cut off by a sudden noise from Sydney, a derisive snort, and both Hardin and the duke looked to him in surprise. Sydney's eyes were downcast, and he said nothing, swallowing whatever he might have said along with what remained in his cup. It seemed rude before someone such as the duke, not to mention inexplicable, but it was not Hardin's place to rebuke him.

Neither did the duke seem inclined to, and seeing that Sydney did not care to elaborate, he continued. "The king would already have established a state religion, had it not been for a handful of us working behind the scenes to reason with our fellows. We cannot be sure of continued success, as the cardinal directs the king's hand where it falters, and the king's son works openly at his behest. It may be that before Joshua is grown, the people of Valendia are simply expected to worship that saint of theirs. Should the boy not be confident in his freedom to choose for himself-"

Again the duke was interrupted, this time by a near-silent sound that caused the two of them to look to Sydney once more - and find him laughing, quietly, almost helplessly, covering his face with the hand that was not holding his cup. Hardin peered at him curiously, for he was becoming suspicious that he might know what this was about. A careful glance back at the duke found him eyeing Sydney with some wariness as well. And yet he said nothing, not to rebuke or question...

But if Hardin was correct, it would be best to head off any potential for further impropriety. "...While we have been enjoying your hospitality, my lord, it has grown later than I had thought. And seeing as you must have had a very long and eventful day... Sydney, would you agree that perhaps we should take our leave?"

"Hmm, yes..." Sydney replied, almost mumbling, as he leaned forward to place his empty cup on the table between them. "Yes, it _has_ become quite late, has it not?"

The duke nodded. "I too had lost track of the hour. As pleasant as it has been to have your company, I suppose such a day must find its end." From the way the duke's wary gaze lingered on Sydney, who had fallen silent now, resting his head in one hand with a tired smile, Hardin was sure the duke knew exactly what Hardin was doing, and why - he was simply too gracious to speak of it. "Perhaps we will have a chance to speak further on the morrow."

"If it should please you, my lord." Hardin rose, and despite the rather intimate gathering, opted to err on the side of formality and bow. Sydney had only begun to stand - and yes, Hardin had thought him only relaxing into his seat, but he had been slumping lower and lower. Quickly Hardin offered his arm, and Sydney accepted, rising to his feet smoothly with the additional support and then relinquishing it.

Hardin almost wondered if he had been mistaken, for once Sydney was on his feet, he strode down the hallway as gracefully as ever - until he appeared to lose his balance while turning a corner. Hardin reached out to keep him from staggering into the wall, but Sydney caught himself and shook off the assistance quickly. Hardin frowned faintly, but only followed close behind, ready to catch him again if necessary. Such behavior was not only inappropriate, but inappropriate behavior in such a formal setting was utterly out of character for Sydney, leaving Hardin more worried than embarrassed. Thinking back, not only had Sydney eaten little at dinner, but he recalled Sydney having no interest in something to eat before they set out at midday, and who knew how long he had been in the temple before Hardin had sought him out - perhaps he had had no breakfast, either. Yet how many times had he refilled his cup...?

But he would say nothing until they were alone, and once they were in their suite, it was Sydney who spoke first, while Hardin was closing the door behind them. "Yes, Hardin," Sydney declared, leaning heavily upon the back of one of the chairs in the suite's front parlor. "You have guessed correctly, I am indeed impaired. Well into my cups. _Quite_ drunk, I should say."

Hardin wasn't sure how to respond. Sydney certainly didn't appear to be ashamed or self-conscious about it. 

"Intentionally, mind you." The words were slightly slurred, and Sydney raised a hand to wag a finger at him teasingly, giving him an uneven smile. "Or do I not know what comes of drinking on an empty stomach? Or nearly so..."

Meaning Sydney had been _trying_ to drink himself to... what? Relaxation? Insensibility? Of course Sydney hated coming to the manor, he'd said as much the last time, and there was clearly tension between himself and the duke, but this did not seem a reasonable way to conduct himself to _ease_ such tensions. "...Sydney," Hardin began, hesitant.

"And if you'll... excuse me for a moment," Sydney spoke up again, before he could say more, "...I believe I must go and see to that."

Hardin frowned, puzzled - until he took Sydney's meaning, and moved hastily to catch up with him as Sydney made his way unsteadily to the washroom.

Having managed to steer Sydney to a basin in time, Hardin knelt there with him, holding him steady, letting Sydney rest back against his chest to catch his breath after he'd been relieved of his last few drinks. Now Hardin was only irritated with himself, for at the moment he no longer felt anything towards Sydney but concern. "Better?"

"I think so," Sydney muttered, letting his head simply fall back against Hardin's shoulder. "Somewhat."

"Perhaps some air would help," Hardin suggested, and at Sydney's vague nod, shifted to help Sydney to his feet, keeping an arm around his waist, for he seemed far less steady now that he had acknowledged his condition. "I'll bring water as well."

It was not the first time Hardin had watched over someone who had drunk far too much. Though he had been one of the younger among the PeaceGuard, there were others of approximately his age. Those who were not, like himself, in it entirely for the coin, but as a means of striking out on their own, perhaps escaping a strict, stifling home life, eager to prove themselves grown - and in the process, proving only that they lacked discipline. During training, while awaiting orders, some of them had indulged in such amusements, and unwittingly found themselves in much the same condition as Sydney, needing help to find their way to their bed. Though it was somewhat obnoxious, Hardin would not leave one of his fellows helpless.

Yet Sydney seemed to have done this to himself intentionally, Hardin thought as he helped Sydney to seat himself outside on the balcony, where the cold air might help to rouse him. It was even stranger than if Sydney had simply been careless - for Sydney was firm about, above nearly all else, showing himself to be in control. It was not as if Sydney never drank - Hardin had seen him grow a bit too loud, a bit absurd, during the feasts that followed the brethren's festival days, but even when they were alone in Sydney's chambers later in the night, never like this. With Hardin alone, he might let his guard down reluctantly from time to time, but before anyone else, particularly someone so important as Duke Bardorba... 

When Hardin returned to the balcony, cup of water in hand, Sydney was much as Hardin had left him, if anything slumped even more awkwardly against the railing, eyes closed wearily. Intentional or otherwise, whatever his reasons, Hardin couldn't help but be concerned. "Sydney...?" he inquired, sitting down at his side. 

Sydney blinked a few times before his eyes opened properly. "Ah... yes. Thank you..." he murmured, accepting the cup Hardin offered. At least he seemed to be stable enough to hold it without spilling, and after regarding it dubiously for a moment, took a few cautious sips before letting his head fall back against the stone again. "...I chose well."

In spite of Hardin's concern outweighing his annoyance... "I beg to differ."

Sydney chuckled faintly. "No, no... in you. In bringing you. You are... too good."

Hardin supposed he meant it as a compliment. "In that, we may be in agreement."

Again Sydney laughed, in much the same way he had laughed at the duke's words before Hardin ushered him out, and he slid a bit further down against the balcony railing. Hardin allowed himself an exasperated sigh, and turned to begin loosing the laces of Sydney's shirt. Not only might the cold air clear Sydney's head faster with more of it against his skin, the shirt he wore was fine material, and it would not do to have it ruined if he were to become ill again.

After Hardin had removed Sydney's shirt, and gone back inside to pour himself some water as well - he had, after all, had a few drinks also - he returned to find Sydney somewhat less listless, sitting slightly straighter and watching him with eyes only half-closed. "Don't ask, Hardin," he mumbled, "for I can give you no answer."

There was no need for Hardin to ask what he was not to ask about, for he had already been considering the phrasing in his heart. Sydney's preemptive denial left him slightly irritated after all. "Very well, I suppose you and the duke will keep whatever secrets cause you to behave so oddly in his presence. And I will simply remain in the dark, ready to clean up whatever unpleasantness you allow to follow in its wake."

Sydney sighed quietly, shaking his head as he lowered his gaze. One metal hand glinted in the darkness, catching a bit of the firelight from inside, as he raised it to beckon vaguely. "Come, John," he bade him, sounding exhausted. "Sit..." In spite of his irritation, Hardin could not bring himself to refuse such a request, voiced in such a manner. Not from Sydney.

"You see," Sydney began, his words still blurring together, "it is not that I will not answer... but that I have no answer to give. For you see... what you know... that is the truth. What you do not know is a lie. Yet it is a lie that the duke cannot bring himself to disbelieve. ...Nor, it would seem, can I," Sydney added more bitterly, his head hanging a bit lower.

Hardin took a drink from his own cup while he considered. For a moment, he wondered if he had _under_ estimated how drunk Sydney was. Then, he wondered if he might have underestimated his own inebriation, for that... almost, in a way, made some semblance of sense.

"If I was to explain to anyone," Sydney murmured, "it would be you, John. You might even understand... and even if not, I know you would say nothing. But better that you know only the truth... for the fewer who know the lie, the less chance there is that it might spread... among even such as you, who already know the truth."

Whatever this "lie" was, it troubled Sydney so much that he should suffer strange fits during their prior visit, and this time apparently considered his best option to be drowning himself in drink. "...You're addling my head more than the duke's wine," he muttered, and despite being uncertain of whether or not he was joking, he found himself somewhat relieved to hear a quiet laugh in response. He couldn't help himself; he rested an arm around Sydney's shoulders. "And what about you... how are you feeling?"

Sydney made a faint, noncommittal noise, letting his head fall against Hardin's shoulder. "...Still very drunk." But then, another soft laugh. "Less... volatile, at least."

"Good." And he did seem to be talking rationally - even if, as was frequently the case, Hardin didn't quite understand what he was talking about, for all of his secrets and divine revelations. "What do you think of sleep?" he asked.

Another soft noise from Sydney, this time almost a moan as he turned his face further against Hardin's shoulder. Hardin found it intriguing, for Sydney was usually so quiet aside from intentional, concise speech. Hardly the time to be thinking such things, however... all the more for the response Sydney gave. "I think it sounds lovely, and also unavoidable."

"And more comfortable in a bed than here on the balcony," Hardin pointed out, tightening his arm around Sydney for a moment before withdrawing it. "If you're ready..."

Despite Sydney's assurance that he was feeling better, it still took a great deal of help from Hardin to get him on his feet, and his steps were unsteady enough that Hardin kept the arm around his waist once again, keeping him on the right path until they reached the bedroom, where Sydney simply lay down, stretched out face-down upon the mattress, and did not seem inclined to move, despite still being half-dressed. "...Sydney?" Hardin inquired, kneeling down at his side.

"This is nice..." came the response, mumbled into the pillow.

Hardin found himself suddenly stifling a laugh. Holy, enlightened high priest, uttering revelations from the gods, and yet... Perhaps he shouldn't have found this behavior so surprising, considering how poorly Sydney had been the last time they'd come. At least his current state was less worrying. If not for Sydney overdoing it so drastically, it might not have been so unusual for two men to become a bit too merry. 

"I'm glad you think so," Hardin said, sitting at the foot of the bed so that he could at least remove Sydney's boots. Even so... "...I cannot imagine what possessed you, that you would dare to drink yourself to such a condition in the duke's presence. Had I not been there to remove you from the situation..."

"But you were," came the muffled reply. "You were. And as for why I dared... that was why." He could not have seen Hardin's puzzled look, but he turned to his side nonetheless, looking down to regard Hardin with drowsy, serious eyes. "I couldn't bear it... I gave up." His eyes closed. "I trust you... I knew you would look after me."

Possibly the answer Sydney gave him should have roused his annoyance all over again - was he simply _expected_ to handle the aftermath of Sydney's whims without question? But instead Hardin found himself rather touched. There was an understanding between them, of course, a mortal rather than religious faith that largely went without saying, and at Sydney's insistence. To hear Sydney give voice to it, when he was in such a state that it could not be guile, some kind of manipulation...

He'd withdrawn his hands when Sydney rolled over, and Hardin reached up to rest one of them lightly upon Sydney's knee for a moment before tugging the other boot off. Sydney might remember none of this in the morning, he supposed... but Hardin was sober enough that he was sure _he_ would.

\-----

Hardin had considered joining Sydney in his bed rather than retiring to his own, knowing that Sydney had found comfort in his embrace the last time they had come to the Bardorba manor. It appeared likely Sydney could have used that comfort again... But then, considering that one or the other of them might need to rise during the night, the better option seemed to be to remain just a few paces away, close at hand should Sydney need him, yet not so close as to disturb one another accidentally.

But each time Hardin woke - and mindful of the wine he also had drunk, had a bit of water - Sydney seemed to be sound asleep, though signs of wakefulness were apparent in the way he had turned over, kicked free of the sheets Hardin had drawn up over him. Still, he slept, and that was the best thing for him at present, so Hardin didn't overly concern himself.

Hardin was also not terribly surprised when he finally woke to find that Sydney's bed was empty. It was hard to tell the time of day given the near-terminal overcast that had given the Graylands its name, but it was light out, so Hardin supposed he might as well also rise and find where Sydney had gone. Normally he might have done the latter before rising, given his talent, but he knew Sydney desired privacy in his dealings with the duke, and it was... not _impossible_ the two of them might be speaking this early. Highly improbable, he suspected, but not entirely impossible.

The first place he should look, Hardin supposed as he rose to his feet drowsily, was the washroom - for that would have been where Sydney would presumably have gone if he had been feeling ill again, and if he was feeling better, he might be refreshing himself by bathing. But before Hardin had gotten so far, he found that although he had closed the doors to the balcony before turning in the previous night, they were half open again, the cold wind intruding to the parlor with occasional bursts of tiny snowflakes.

Much as he had expected, when he looked outside, he found Sydney leaning forward upon the railing, dressed only in a loose robe, head buried in his folded arms. ...It did not bode well for him feeling better, Hardin thought.

"Your concern does you credit." Sydney's voice was somewhat muffled, as his face remained hidden within the folds of the fabric, and he sounded exhausted besides, his words coming slower than usual. "Yet perhaps I can offer you the same reassurance I have: while the Dark heals me of my mortal wounds, it is not so quick to concern itself with minor afflictions, those that do not threaten my life. Therefore... as the Dark has done nothing whatsoever for my head, I must assume that I am not dying." When Hardin remained silent - for he was not sure what he could or _should_ say to that, Sydney clarified. "Yes, Hardin, that was an attempt at a joke. I do occasionally make them."

Well enough for gallows humor, then - that answered Hardin's questions, and he stepped outside to stand with Sydney, in spite of the cold breeze and the light snowfall. Still he was not sure what he might say, so he only rested a hand upon Sydney's back, rubbing lightly. Finally, he fell back on the predictable. "Is there something I can do for you? Water, perhaps?"

Still buried in his arms, Sydney shook his head. "I've already had a bit, but thank you. ...What you're doing now is quite sufficient, in fact."

That was good, for Hardin found it somewhat calming for himself as well. All the different sides of Sydney he saw so often, powerful and terrifying, distant and wise, almost as much god as human... with his arms hidden within the draped fabric and his hands folded beneath his weary head, Sydney looked very like an ordinary man for the moment. Hardin considered it a blessing, that the gods would allow him to see Sydney like this, and even permit him to somehow be of use.

Perhaps his mind had wandered too far, or too audibly, for not long after he had had the thought, Sydney spoke again. "...You might as well dress," he said, pushing himself up from his weary position, the illusion of an ordinary man falling away with the click of metal against stone, the sleeves falling back to reveal sharp claws. "I shall do likewise, and while you breakfast, I will seek out the duke - or rather, the boy, that I might offer the blessing I promised. Perhaps we can depart by midday, and be back to Leá Monde in time for dinner."

Hardin was dubious about nearly every part of what Sydney had said, save perhaps for breakfast. Sydney still looked somewhat unsteady, his eyes betrayed his weariness. "...Are you certain? You still look unwell."

His head still half-bowed, Sydney smirked - and by the time he looked up to meet Hardin's eyes, he did not look so. "Do I...?"

Whether it was a mild glamour or simply Sydney's natural ability to put forth the impression of calm control whenever he chose, Hardin could not be certain. He was also not so certain the duke would not likewise see through it so easily as he did, after Sydney's behavior the night before.

"Oh, please," Sydney muttered, brushing past Hardin to go back inside; just as easily as that, he had returned to his usual sardonic mannerisms. "Even should he think anything of it, he will say nothing. The duke has spent decades in Parliament, among nobility and royalty," Sydney pointed out as Hardin followed him back towards the bedroom. "He has surely encountered his share of drunken fools, and handled them with tact."

That was definitely a fair point, if indelicately stated. "I could go with you," Hardin offered. For if Sydney had become so frustrated the night before in his speaking to the duke... even if Hardin still didn't understand how or why...

"There is no need," Sydney said dismissively, looking through what he had brought to find a fresh shirt. "Unlike the duke, I have little patience for fools." Hardin was taken aback for a split second before he realized - Sydney was not referring to him. 

But he was given no opportunity to offer comfort. Having tossed his change of clothing out onto the unmade bed, Sydney spared a moment to turn, lifting his hand to rest it against Hardin's cheek. Hardin flinched slightly, not from the unexpected touch but the chill of it, for his metal hands were still cold from his time out on the balcony in the falling snow. "You have performed the duties for which I brought you, Hardin, and performed them well," Sydney stated. Either he had let his glamour fall away, or let his guard down again, but the small, grateful smile he offered appeared both earnest and exhausted. "Now it falls to me - and I am capable of performing my own. I am, after all, none other than the high priest of Müllenkamp."

Not quite, Hardin thought. Sydney was more than that - far more. Yet just then, at that moment, it _was_ what he was, and he was very good at it. "...Give my regards to the duke as well," he murmured, meeting Sydney's eyes, offering his acknowledgement and support wordlessly, knowing Sydney would hear. "And young Joshua - may he be so blessed as you would ask." It would not be easy for the boy, Hardin suspected, to grow with the expectations of such a great house as the Bardorbas resting upon his shoulders. And beyond that, there was the strict piety of his mother, at odds with his father's less formal faith in the gods of old...

Sydney nodded, and Hardin wondered if it was only his concern that caused him to see a moment of pain in Sydney's eyes before he turned away to dress.

\-----

Trying to make contact with the duke was somewhat more complicated under the current circumstances than it ordinarily might have been. With the birth of his son, of course the duke wanted to be close by the boy, and the boy was by necessity to remain close to his mother... and his mother was not to know of Sydney's presence. Although Sydney could have guessed that the duke would be in or near their bedchambers, he dared not approach to call him away, that they might meet privately elsewhere. At last, knowing that the servants had been instructed to keep his coming a secret, Sydney opted to ask one of them to tell the duke to meet him in the same sitting room as the night before, as it was not far from the ducal bedchambers to begin with.

He found himself pacing restlessly as he waited; fortunately the room looked rather different by the light of day than by the light of candles, so he did not find himself overly preoccupied with memories of the previous night's frustration. Beyond the lingering throb in his head, he had plenty of frustrations to come on this day alone, he thought - and indeed, they began to stir when the door opened, and the duke walked in with a small bundle of blankets cradled carefully in his arms. "May I assume," the duke began, "that I know why you asked to see me?"

"It appears you have guessed correctly." Sydney hadn't been sure what he expected to think or feel upon seeing the child, and the twinge of bitterness was likely unavoidable - yet foremost, he found, was curiosity. "At last, I shall meet the youngest Duke of House Bardorba."

The duke nodded, smiled oddly. From what Sydney felt of his heart, the duke seemed to feel some of the same as he. "And he shall meet the one who guards his family's heritage. ...Would you care to hold him?"

The offer was another thing Sydney certainly hadn't anticipated, but after considering for a moment... "You would trust these hands with your heir?" he asked, lifting one to let the slender blades catch the light.

"They are _your_ hands," the duke replied. "So yes, I would, even were he not so thoroughly swaddled."

In the face of such trust, Sydney supposed he could not have refused. He nodded, and the duke closed the few paces between them.

The child squirmed a bit, restless, as the duke carefully placed him in Sydney's waiting arms, but he did not cry out. Sydney gathered him closer, peering down at what he held. Of course Sydney had seen infants before, and held them - there had been children born to the brothers and sisters of Müllenkamp during the years after he had attained his power. With them he had rejoiced over the coming of new life and new light into the world, and performed the same task as he was to do now. But it had been some time; given how dangerous it had become for his flock, the expectant mothers and young children and elders mostly had been sheltering in settlements away from those who followed him physically in his wanderings. Between that distance and the significance of this infant in particular, Sydney found himself wondering at the boy - the tiny eyes and nose and mouth, the miniscule hand that crept free of his blankets. "...He's so very small."

"He is," the duke agreed. "But not _too_ small, praise be to the gods." Sydney nodded in silent agreement. He understood, though he was not sure what he felt about it. Or... any of this.

He was clearly not the only one. The duke's face was almost blank as he looked upon Sydney holding Joshua. Almost, but not quite; it was as if he could not decide between joy or sorrow. "You'll forgive me," he said after a long hesitation, his voice lowered. "To see this moment... I find I know not what to say."

Sydney had expected something of this sort. He had even anticipated that the duke might not be the only one so affected. "You need say nothing in particular," he told the duke. "If you would say anything, may it be whatever you would say to any other of the Lady's priesthood - to Alexei, for instance, were he still with us to perform such duties."

The duke's face darkened at the mention of Sydney's predecessor. "...Were it Alexei who stood before me, I would have many questions. Not the least of which... why I was asked to choose between my beloved wife and my young son, only to lose both in the end."

Now it was Sydney who found he had nothing to say. He had no words with which to ease the duke's bitterness that would not prove one or the other of them false. He only looked down at the child in his arms, a perfectly valid reason to keep his eyes averted, until... perhaps it was divine inspiration. "The gods see from above what we can only see from below," he said, "At times the path they place before men is a long and winding one, obscured by the landscape through which it passes; others who have passed that way before may have broken down the signposts, or even sabotaged them to mislead. It might be that you were given a lesson to learn, so that you would be ready when the time came to welcome the one who was _meant_ to become your heir. For surely you know more now than you did when Tomas was born - you have become stronger than when Corrinne was at your side. You have no distractions, no temptations... I see that your heart is for naught but this child's welfare, that he should grow to find joy and prosperity... that you will not lose him, and that when the time has come, you will rest peacefully, knowing that he will do honor to the name and the blood you share."

"...Forgive me." The duke sighed heavily. "Truly, you are the Lady's chosen, your wisdom exceeding that which comes with age alone, and the words you speak are sound. I should not trouble her high priest with my own regrets."

"I am not so troubled as all that." To Sydney's surprise, it was true. Each of them had their part to play, and he and the duke had found theirs, though it had not been as either had expected. It seemed Joshua had been born for the role left unfilled, and thus the cast was complete at long last. 

He smiled a bit at the boy stirring sleepily in his arms. Sydney had had questions, yes, but he had gone long enough without answers, and by now - _especially_ now - they mattered very little. "Now, as for the blessing... what would you ask that the gods grant him?"

The duke shook his head as Sydney looked to him again. "I daresay you would know better than I what Joshua will need. Please... use your own judgment, and I shall trust in it."

Sydney couldn't resist. "...A risky decision, after my behavior last night." 

He shot a small, wry smile at the duke, and the duke dared to chuckle in response. "To be honest, it was almost refreshing, seeing you behaving as a young man might. And your friend Hardin," he added more seriously, "is a very good companion to have at your side."

"He is," Sydney agreed quietly, lowering his eyes to the boy again. And with that inspiration... "May such companions be among the blessings bestowed upon this child by the gods of his ancestors," he began, letting his softly spoken words rise beyond the room, that the gods themselves might hear. His hand lifted as well, resting two fingertips carefully upon the boy's brow. "May he ever have sure guidance from those about him, to direct his steps when they stray, to take his hand when he should stumble, to correct him when he finds himself in the wrong. May he know loyalty and faith - neither blind nor unquestioning, but that which comes by mutual trust and a yearning for truth; walking with eyes uncovered, wide amidst endless curiosity. May he come to stand for justice, yet never at the expense of mercy. May he grow strong, courageous... and possess the wisdom to know when to yield. May he find joy and contentment, whether the course of his life unfolds as expected, or takes unforeseen turns..."

Sydney glanced up at the duke, who stood silent with his hands folded, his head solemnly bowed. "And may those who surround him in his youth be granted the same," Sydney added, "so that he might learn these things by example - and mete out justice, love, truth, and peace because he has known them his whole life long. ...Alak farrimha madul, Adias par haram kenadas," he concluded quietly with the ancient ritual words in Kildean. 

If the duke knew Kildean well enough to recognize that Sydney had altered the phrasing slightly, he gave no indication - which was good, because it was the only concession Sydney intended to make to the difference in this rite over any other, and it was a minor one. The duke only inclined his head respectfully a moment longer, then lifted it again. "I shall do my best to help the gods fulfill such a blessing. My thanks, Sydney, for granting me this favor."

"It is an honor to perform such a rite for your son, my lord," Sydney replied. And then, entirely honest, "I am grateful for your invitation, and the care you took that it might be ... relatively unproblematic."

Of course the duke understood what he meant, and he smiled wryly. "It should not be hard to keep her from thinking anything of note has taken place, for I intend to spend a great deal of time doting upon Joshua, with or without her at my side. And no one beyond these walls shall know of his birth until you are well away from this place."

"You need not wait long to boast of him," Sydney said, with the first honestly pleased smile he could recall giving the duke in many years, as he carefully adjusted the bundle of blankets that he might return the boy to his father's arms. "I've already told Hardin that we are to depart when I am finished here, and when he has finished breakfast."

"And you?" the duke inquired, looking up briefly from the child. "Have you yet eaten? Or..."

"I have not," Sydney admitted. "Yet if Maeta is still presiding over your kitchens, I expect she will insist upon giving Hardin something to bring back for me, that I may eat during the journey home." Should he find his appetite along the way...

And he might. After this exchange with the duke, seeing the way he held Joshua in his arms with such delight, Sydney found that he already felt much improved - as if a weight, perhaps many, had been lifted from him with his prayer.

\-----

Under the circumstances, Hardin was not surprised that he found himself taking the lead during their return trip, rather than following a short distance behind Sydney as was their usual way. With the condition Sydney had been in the night before, and his willingness to admit to such discomfort in the morning, Hardin had expected he might fall short of his usual pace. Not that Hardin minded; he might not know the area so well as Sydney, but they had no need to avoid the roads, and he knew the general direction they must go. If he somehow took a wrong turn, surely Sydney would correct him before they had gone too far astray, even if he was a bit distracted.

And he _was_ distracted, from what Hardin saw from time to time when he scryed behind him, not wanting to appear as though he was overly concerned, but also wanting to make sure that Sydney was not driving himself too hard. In the light snow, Sydney kept his hood raised, hiding his eyes in the shadows, but his mouth was not tense or taut. When an occasional gust of wind lifted the hood for an instant, Sydney's eyes did not seem pained, but only distant. Surprisingly... normal, as that was so often Sydney's demeanor.

Thus in spite of Hardin's assumption that Sydney was not at his best, it came as a small surprise when it was Sydney who suggested that they stop and rest briefly, though by Hardin's estimation it was only early in the afternoon and they had not gone far. It was a more pleasant surprise, after they had settled down at the road's edge, when Sydney looked to him with interest. "Seeing as you took your breakfast in the dining hall, I expect Maeta found you."

"She did, yes," Hardin confirmed. The duke's head cook - having served at the manor longer than the staff the duchess had brought with her, she seemed to be untroubled by Sydney and his companions. Even fond of them - Hardin had wondered if she might have been among the brethren of Müllenkamp in her younger days.

"I expect then that she would have insisted upon giving you something for the journey," Sydney reasoned. "And almost certainly a belated breakfast for me as well."

"As a matter of fact..." Hardin was all too willing to take the pack down from his shoulder and go through it if Sydney was feeling better. "I take it you're ready to eat something, then."

Sydney nodded. "I might have asked earlier, but I was uncertain whether travel would agree with me or not. It seems that it has."

"I'm glad to hear it." And indeed, the cook had given him some fresh bread and some fruit to take with him, though he'd told her he was certain they would be home by dinnertime. And since Sydney had not been at breakfast, she had also bid him take a few of the sweetened pastries that had been at the table, which he now presented to Sydney.

He was all the more relieved to see Sydney unwrap the paper they were bundled in without any hesitation, smiling fondly rather than deliberating before he took a bite. Hardin supposed he might as well have a bit of what had been packed for him as well, since they had stopped for the moment. 

Something seemed a mite odd, though... The last time they'd visited the duke, Sydney had been on edge for at least the following day after their departure. But now, even in the aftermath of too much drink besides, he seemed to be acting normally - even in good spirits. Hardin could only assume that something had happened during that final meeting with Duke Bardorba, while the two of them were alone, and it had set Sydney's mind at ease. ...For the life of him, he couldn't imagine what it could have been. Possibly because he hadn't the slightest idea what it was that had been troubling Sydney so much to begin with. 

Whatever it was, Hardin knew he would get no answer, and so he would simply be grateful for Sydney acting like himself. Including not answering the unspoken questions which he was sure Sydney was aware of, he thought ruefully, looking up from his own food to glance again at Sydney, who seemed to be paying him no mind, gazing off into the distance thoughtfully as he ate.

But indeed, he had heard the thoughts of Hardin's heart. "It _is_ a joyful occasion," Sydney said, though Hardin remained silent. "The Bardorba bloodline is an ancient one, intertwined with the history of our faith. If it were to have been cut off, Duke Aldous being the last of his house..." Sydney hesitated, then looked to Hardin with a smile. "Let us only say that despite my past dealings with this duke specifically, I would never wish ill upon them. Though I too have my concerns about young Joshua's wellbeing, the mere fact that he was born at all is a good omen of the gods' providence and mercy towards their servants - myself included. Though my blessing was a hopeful prayer rather than prophecy, I know that they have heard my request for the boy."

With that, Sydney became quiet and somewhat distant again, as if he listened to something very far away. And he might, Hardin thought, given who he was. "If they would hear the prayers of any of their servants," Hardin agreed, "surely they would hear yours, given that you are no less than their high priest."

Sydney smiled again, that strange, distant smile. "Indeed. No less, and no more."

Again Hardin was not quite sure he understood what Sydney meant. Even so, it appeared to please him, and Hardin supposed that was enough.


End file.
